I'm Sorry
by writing-at-random
Summary: Set after The Wicked Day: Arthur's hatred of magic grew after his father died, so when Merlin can't take living a lie any longer, he tells Arthur the truth about being a sorcerer. Will friendship triumph? Or will Death claim another innocent victim?


**A/N: This story would not get out of my head after I saw The Wicked Day. When I thought about Arthur now hating magic forever and always, I had to write this! It's quite dark, but I hope you like it! Sorry for any mistakes, it's 12:30 at night.**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine…**

For almost an entire week, Merlin had not been himself; knocking before he entered, not insulting Arthur back, and not smiling his signature smile. It was driving Arthur crazy! He had thought about ordering Merlin to return to normal and stop being a horrid bootlicker, but that would show that the king actually _cared_ about Merlin. No, he couldn't have that.

So when Merlin entered Arthur's chambers that night, he decided to interrogate his manservant about what was wrong. It couldn't be that serious of a problem. Merlin was probably just overacting to something.

"Merlin," Arthur called when the warlock was about to leave for the night.

He turned around solemnly. "Yes, sire?"

Arthur stood up from his chair trying to ignore the fact that Merlin had called him 'sire,' and walked over to the emotionless man that once had been Merlin. When the king met his blue eyes, it was terrifying. They gave no spark, none of the excitement that it did before, and that bothered Arthur.

"What's wrong?" he asked finally, not knowing how else to word the question. But his manservant just shrugged it off. "No, these past few days something has been wrong and I want – no, I need – to know what is making you so miserable."

As he talked, Merlin stared blankly at the floor with no response.

Sighing, Arthur ran a hand through his hair, at a loss as to how to get an answer out of his friend. This was harder than he originally thought it would be.

"Look," Arthur sighed. "I'm your friend, Merlin, and if there is something bothering you I want to know about it so that maybe I can help you get through it. Whatever it is, surely there must be something –"

"You can't help me," Merlin suddenly said darkly, making Arthur's head snap up and force himself to look into those dark blue eyes. "No one can." The warlock smiled hopelessly, putting his hands up and back down. "I feel as if… I'm _dying_ inside. I just can't live this way anymore. Everything… everything I have worked for has come crashing down, and it will never be how it's supposed to be… and it's all my fault," he whispered, but Arthur caught every word.

He put a hand on Merlin's shoulder for a moment before removing it. "It can't be entirely your fault, Merlin, whatever it is."

But Merlin just nodded. "Oh it is."

Then a thought occurred to Arthur, something that may be the problem. "If it's because you think things are going to change just because I'm king, you're wrong. You are still my manservant and we'll still make jokes," he laughed, but Merlin stayed serious, shaking his head.

"No, Arthur, things _are_ going to change now that you're king, and not in the way they should," Merlin shuttered. "I messed everything up, and I have no idea how to mend the situation!" He was quiet for a few seconds, contemplating his thoughts. Merlin's next words made Arthur more confused than he already was. "I don't know how much longer I can live this way; all the lying and the pretending. It's not fun, Arthur, and it hurts."

If the king wasn't mistaken, Merlin's eyes had grown darker and he was on the verge of tears as his voice cracked more and more with every spoken word. It pained Arthur to see him like this, but what could he do?

Merlin took in a deep breath, shutting his eyes for a moment. "I feel alone all the time, with no one to talk to about this burden that's been haunting me ever since I came to Camelot. Gaius doesn't really want me to tell you, but it's almost as if that's my only option; to come clean and hope for the best." He let out a humorless laugh. "I thought… I thought that three weeks ago I would finally be able to tell you everything and live freely, I thought it was my chance to fulfill that one part of my destiny," he said, his voice deepening as his attitude grew angry, "but I was wrong. I just made things worse, and brought you to the point of no return."

Suddenly, Arthur just couldn't take it anymore. "What _are_ you talking about?"

So quickly that it took the king by surprise, Merlin snapped. "Magic, Arthur. I'm talking about magic."

He fell silent, not sure where the conversation was going anymore. Merlin seemed to be talking nonsense, but Arthur could tell there was some underlining meaning to all of his prattle. Now, he was just baffled as to what that meaning could possibly be. Magic? What did magic have to do with Merlin?

"You really don't get it do you?" Merlin asked incredulously, a tear sliding down his cheek. "I have magic, Arthur! I'm a sorcerer. You see? You don't even take me seriously!" Merlin shouted when Arthur just raised an eyebrow at his outburst.

"That's because you sound ridiculous," Arthur admitted, and mentally slapped himself at how insensitive that sounded.

Merlin rolled his eyes in a way that wasn't just playful, it was angry. Arthur could tell Merlin was being _dead_ serious as more tears started streaming out of the warlock's eyes. "You say you're my friend, Arthur, and you know I am hiding something. Why can't you accept that what I'm telling you is the truth?" he practically begged.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Merlin, I don't know what has possessed you into saying you are a sorcerer, but it really isn't smart to go around saying things like that." He felt like he was schooling a young child about right and wrong, and how to distinguish between the two.

Breathing out hard, Merlin collapsed in the nearest chair, eyeing Arthur with sheer sorrow. "I can't take it anymore," he choked. Merlin looked away for a moment, and then returned his gaze to Arthur. The warlock held out his right hand out on the table for the king to see. In a weak voice, Merlin said, "_Foreberenon_." Instantly – and to Arthur's utter horror – his eyes flashed a deep gold and a fire appeared in his hand, lighting up that area of the room a tad more. When he closed his hand, the flame disappeared and Merlin looked back up at his friend.

"Now do you believe me?" he asked tonelessly.

"Sorcerer," was all Arthur was able to say, his temper rising. He had thought he had known Merlin, _trusted_ Merlin, but all this time… he was the enemy that had slipped past his attention, because who would suspect a helpless servant. But Merlin wasn't helpless at all! He was a sorcerer! He practiced magic!

In a fit of rage, Arthur grabbed his sword, pointing it at Merlin who just stood up. "_How could you?_" the king shouted, Merlin wincing violently. "How could you do this? You had my full trust, and you used that against me!" Now, two teardrops had escaped from Arthur's sparkling blue eyes and cascaded to the floor.

Merlin shook his head. "I wouldn't do that, Arthur, and despite what you think, I'm _not_ evil."

"Yes, Merlin," Arthur shouted shaking violently, his sword at the warlock's neck and cutting into his skin. "You are evil! You practice magic, you caused my father's death, for all I know you've been trying to kill me this entire time! It's no wonder you can't live with yourself. You've been a traitor from the beginning!"

Suddenly aware that his life was in danger, Merlin's instincts kicked in. "I know you've been hurt by magic, I have too, but you can't go around killing every person who has that gift."

Arthur barked a laugh. "Gift? Is that what you call it to make you feel better?" Merlin stumbled away from the table as the sword's blade dug deeper into his skin.

"Please, Arthur, I'm your friend! I chose to trust you with this," Merlin said with a tinge of guilt in his voice, but the king refused to listen.

"You're no friend of mine," he snapped, Merlin's eyes drooping with defeat. "You are dead to me, and that's exactly what you will be."

Before Merlin could have had time to react, Arthur lunged his sword at the warlock. The blade pierced through his stomach, coming out his back. Merlin's breathing stopped as he looked down at the weapon that had been inserted into him. Arthur withdrew his bloody sword, and his servant stumbled backwards, hitting the wall and falling to the floor. Slowly, the light vanished from his eyes before it disappeared completely, his lids shutting.

Arthur bent down to take a closer look at his kill. There, on Merlin's right cheek, a tear streak was drying on his pale skin. Merlin's blue tunic was now turning a deep shade of purple around the fatal wound as the blood seeped out.

"Guards," he called, and two men appeared at the door. "Take this body way. He was a sorcerer."

The order dry, but it was an order all the same, and so the guards obeyed without question, something Merlin would never do. But Merlin wasn't here anymore. He was a sorcerer.

He was dead.

It wasn't until two days later did Arthur truly start feeling the pain of killing whom he thought was his best friend. Others had cried, mourned, but not him. Gwen hadn't come out of her room. Gaius was barely talking anymore. Gwaine had refused to listen to another word Arthur said, and was planning on leaving Camelot by sundown that very day. Servants that Arthur suspected were once friends of Merlin glared at him hatefully when passing by him instead of bowing respectfully.

It was almost too much for him to bear.

_But father would be proud_, he told himself. He, Arthur Pendragon, had killed a sorcerer.

Shouldn't that be a good thing?

As Arthur went to stand by the mantle, he spotted a piece of paper perched over the fireplace. That hadn't been there before. Quickly, he grabbed it and found that it had his name written on it.

In Merlin's handwriting.

With shaky hands, the king opened the letter and read silently:

_Arthur,_

_If you're reading this then I'm probably dead. I asked Gaius to give this to you just in case you did something rash. Obviously, if you're reading this then you DID do something rash, you dollophead! But the point of this note is not to insult you with my clever vocabulary – and yes, it is _very_ clever – but it is to tell you I'm sorry. You never got to see good magic at work, though it was all around you every day. I don't want to sit here and write about all the times I've saved your life and try to force some glorified image of me into your kingly brain. No, I just want to say sorry. Long live King Arthur – the Once and Future King who will unite Albion. Good luck doing it without me! I know you can._

_Your friend no matter what you do,_

_Merlin_

When he finished reading the note, Arthur's knees gave way and he fell to the floor with the paper clutched tightly in his hand. And, for the first time in two days, he felt the pain of Merlin's death; Arthur Pendragon did not resist, but let the tears stream down his face.

"I'm sorry," he muttered to the empty room. And for a split second, Arthur felt as if Merlin's hand had laid itself gently upon his shoulder, consoling him as he wept mercilessly by the fire.

**A/N: I seem to have some obsession with Merlin writing notes… He just seems like the kind of person who would write notes, don't you think? Anyway, please review! I'd like to know what y'all think!**


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